Born to Die - Lisa Jackson [69]
“Sorry, I can’t. Thanks for the dinner. It was spectacular.” Alvarez avoided Grayson’s eyes because she hated trying to fabricate excuses and had always prided herself as a straight shooter. Lying didn’t come easily.
Grayson followed her into the hallway and found her coat on a peg near the door. “Whatever it is can wait.”
“Don’t think so.”
He grabbed the crook of her arm. “What’s going on?”
“Just a mix-up with some lab requests and reports.” He let go, and she almost sighed in relief. “As I said, nothing serious. I just want it straightened out ASAP.” She slipped her arms into the wool sleeves and felt like a fool as he helped her shrug into the shoulders. Grabbing her scarf from one of the pegs with one hand, she reached for the door with her other. “Thanks so much for the meal. It was incredible,” she said and hurried outside.
Reaching her car, she glanced back to see Grayson standing on the stoop, watching her slide behind the wheel of her Jeep.
“Dan?” Hattie’s muffled voice sounded from the other room.
Alvarez rammed the keys into the ignition and, as the engine sparked to life, flipped on the wipers to brush off the accumulation of snow that had collected on the windshield. She backed around and hit the gas. In her rearview mirror she spied the door to Grayson’s cabin close, all warmth and light shut away from the winter night.
Disappointment clutched her heart in its cold, bitter grasp, and she chided herself. What had she expected, huh? That she and the sheriff would eat an intimate dinner alone, that they would sip the wine she brought, maybe even share a kiss?
She could scarcely bear her own thoughts. She turned onto the main highway, only to be trapped by a snowplow steadfastly pushing snow to the side of the road, its huge blade scraping a layer of ice.
Alvarez slowed to fifteen miles an hour and advised herself never to be so foolish again.
She was still gone.
He knew it by the lack of ruts in her driveway and the fact that the lights glowing in Acacia’s home were the same ones that were wired to timers, set to go off at specific hours. The den’s desk lamp clicked on at 5:00 a.m. every morning, and the downstairs table lamp brightened the rooms at four thirty in the afternoon without fail. Day in, day out.
But no other patches of light were visible through the bare-branched trees. In spring and summer her home was hidden from the road, but this time of year, with no foliage on the cottonwoods, aspens, and chokecherries that rimmed her house, the buildings could be observed. Yes, they were nearly a quarter of a mile off the main road, with fields and the sparse trees separating the house from traffic, but even on a wintry night like this, lamplight was visible.
He had been careful as he didn’t know if she was returning tonight and he feared his footsteps would be visible in the snow. Though he knew that he should be cautious, that attacking her now could bring more attention to him than he wanted, he was also a believer in taking any opportunity that presented itself. The holidays provided cover as there was more traffic, and people were busy and distracted. Currently she had no alarm system, no guard dog, and no roommate, but any of those factors could change in a heartbeat. He had to act swiftly, while he could.
Driving slowly, he had passed by the lane leading to her house once, then once again, and convinced she hadn’t shown up, decided to take the chance.
He’d parked a mile and a half away, behind a pile of boulders at an old rock quarry, then strapped on his cross-country skis for the trek. Fortunately, her family’s farm abutted a national forest, and he had few fences to cross. There were trails that wound through the stands of pine, tamarack, and juniper, and he’d learned the closest routes.
Wearing night-vision goggles, he’d skied carefully through the quiet forest, scaring up a snowshoe hare, which had hopped quickly into